


Trigger Warning

by C4t1l1n4



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, By a minor character, Domestic Fluff, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Wing cuddles, Wings, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4t1l1n4/pseuds/C4t1l1n4
Summary: Broken wing hurt comfort: Crowley dives from a tall building to save a suicidal human who jumped, but the extra weight of trying to carry himself and a human causes him to crash land and break one of his wings badly. This leaves Aziraphale trying to help the suicidal human (a young queer teen, playing off of Aziraphale as the guardian angel of the LGBT headcanon), and care for Crowley’s wing without the human noticing. It’ll take a few miracles, but he’ll make sure they both end up ok.Happy Ending, don’t worry.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 88
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	Trigger Warning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scmnz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scmnz/gifts).



> TW for attempted suicide.
> 
> Thanks to asideofourown for betaing

By the time Crowley got there, it was too late.

It wasn’t like the bridges in London were very high, but they were tall enough to get the job done. Crowley’s disregard for his own safety is usually a trait that is brushed off as a reckless demony thing, but it was something Aziraphale has been pressuring him to keep in mind. Unfortunately, a situation like this didn’t leave Crowley much time to find a safer way to go about things. 

The poor kid had just thrown themself right off the edge. Crowley had no hesitation throwing himself off right after. 

He had no problem catching up to the falling teen, and pulling them close. He flapped his wings as much as he could in order to slow them down, but something _s n a p p e d_ and Crowley grimaced. He quickly spun them around, so he would be the one to take the brunt of the impact, bracing himself. They landed with a thud, indenting the pavement, and it was only due to a strained demonic miracle that they didn’t draw the attention of everyone nearby. Crowley clenched his teeth and screwed his eyes shut. _Angel!_ He thought as pointedly as he could, hoping to draw the attention of his lover from the bookshop nearby. 

The pain was absolutely overwhelming, but he refused to let go of the teen, no matter the circumstances. He wasn’t sacrificing himself only for them to go running off. Crowley cringed as they shifted a bit, seeming to stir, but he willed for them to sleep until Aziraphale arrived, which he hoped was soon, because the longer he lay there, unable to move, the less chance he had of getting up. 

_Oh, bless it._ He thought as his mind derailed from its current train of thought and smashed straight into something entirely different. And something entirely less pleasant. 

**“You fell,”** It supplied, and Crowley tried to take a deep breath in, but all he got was a lung full of dust, and he choked.  
“Your wings are broken,” and all he could think about was that pit of tar, covering his snowy wings and staining them back.

**“You have to move,”** It supplied, and he tried but he couldn’t and tears streamed down his face and oh god, why couldn’t he breathe. It’s the tar and sulfur and he’s gonna reek of it and it’s in all his feathers and- 

**“They’re gonna kill you,** ” and he has to move now or he’ll drown or someone else will find him and see three sets of wings and what will they think. 

**“No one is going to help you,”** It supplied, and he tried to remind himself that he sauntered vaguely downwards and it wasn’t like this and it couldn’t be like this because he’s pointedly forgotten about this.

**“It’s kill or be kil-”**

“Crowley? Oh, dear.” Aziraphale’s worried voice sprung his eyes open, scanning quickly to find the source of it but he lost his sunglasses somewhere on the way down and it so bright and- A shadow falls over him and he tenses and holds back any indication that he’s in pain until he squints up and golden eyes meet blue. Crowley relaxes. 

“Angel,” he sighs. “Took ya long enough.” 

Aziraphale rolls his eyes but turns his attention to evaluate the details of the situation now that he knew everyone was alright. 

“Threw themselves right off, they did.” Crowley continues, his grip relaxing on the teen, letting his arms fall to his side. Aziraphale coos sympathetically, but Crowley isn’t quite sure which one of them it’s directed at. “And I pulled something, sure as anything.” He griped, denying the full extent of the problem at hand. “So if you don’t mind, dealing with the kid,” Crowley cuts himself off by transforming into a snake and slithering up to curl around the angel’s shoulders. 

Aziraphale strokes him gently, urging him to sleep, before turning his attention to the teen on the sidewalk. He shakes them awake and smiles softly as they take in their surroundings.

“Am I in Hell?” 

Aziraphale cringes. “Goodness, no. Much better.”

“Heaven?” They guess again. 

“Earth, actually.”

“Oh.” They seem disappointed. 

“That was quite the fall there,” Aziraphale prompts, guiding them to their feet and ushering them over to the bookshop. “Let’s just take a second to catch our breath. How do you feel about hot cocoa?” 

“It’s.. fine,” they respond, half confused and half overwhelmed. They were ready to bolt, afraid this man would try and take them to the hospital - how do they not need to go to the hospital - but this bookshop has such an overpowering feeling of being loved, they can’t resist staying a little longer. They’re led to an area behind the main front of the store and sit on a stool at the kitchen counter, only to have a piping hot mug of hot cocoa set in front of them seconds later. 

They sit there for a little bit longer before Aziraphale speaks. “Is there anything bothering you?”

“Not that you care,” they snark back, but their eyes stay concentrated on the steam that rises out of the mug, and Aziraphale uses the moment to continue. 

“You’d be surprised to learn I have a godchild just like you.” 

This draws their attention, and they look up at Aziraphale, waiting for him to explain. 

“Their name is Warlock.”

“Their?”

“Their. Just like you. And just like me. Though I tend to use he/him pronouns because that’s what is most commonly used when referred to me but it doesn’t bother me either way. But it does bother them. And it’s okay if it bothers you. Being non-binary is perfectly valid. If that is what you chose to label yourself as. Oh, and I’m afraid I don’t have your name.” 

“Uh, Elliot. Demi-boy... I think. They/them pronouns right now though.”

“Aziraphale. Non-binary. He/Him pronouns are fine.”

They reach out and shake as if they haven’t been talking for the past couple of minutes and Elliot giggles. “It’s nice to meet you,” they say, and take another sip from the mug. 

“Well, Elliot. You are welcome here at any time. The door will always be unlocked if you need it to be. Besides, I’d love to introduce you to my genderfluid husband. It’s a he/him pronoun day for him.”

Elliot smiles. They fall back into a calm silence until Crowley shifts on his shoulders and draws attention to himself. “You have a snake?” Elliot exclaims, his eyes bright and shiny. “Can I pet it?” 

“I watch him for a friend sometimes,” Aziraphale replies, and drops his gaze to Crowley. “Do you mind, dear?” 

Crowley blinks drowsily but nudges Aziraphale in affirmation. Elliot bounces to their feet and reaches over to gently touch him. Crowley unwinds himself from the angel and slithers his way onto Elliot, curling around them and coming to rest his head on top of Elliot’s. The teen giggles again, and Aziraphale smiles as Crowley’s tongue flicks in the air. 

“I think that means he’d love for you to come over any time as well.” Aziraphale smiles, but it fades as he realizes how stiff Crowley is moving. He gently removes him from Elliot and settles him back around his shoulders. “Remember what we discussed dear,” He says, shuffling them towards the door, “You’re not alone.” 

He watches them go, and with a small miracle, is reassured they were going to be alright. 

As soon as they’re out of sight, Aziraphale’s full attention is on Crowley. He gently sets him on the couch, where he promptly changes back into his human form and collapses to the ground in pain. Aziraphale rushes to his side, falling onto the ground next to him. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when 3 pairs of wings flutter into existence around him. One of them on the left side is resting at an awkward angle and twitches every time Crowley breathes. 

Aziraphale reaches out to touch it and Crowley whimpers in pain, leaning forward to rest against the angel. Unfortunately, the bone would have to be set, and using a miracle would be just as painful. “You’re going to have to brace yourself, dear,” Aziraphale warns, shifting Crowley to lay on his back. 

Crowley catches his hand. “Just knock me out, angel. You might as well do it now, I’m going to pass out from the pain anyway.” 

Aziraphale snaps his fingers and any sounds of pain stop, Crowley falling limp on the floor next to him, untensing. He gently places his hands on Crowley’s wing, whispering a soft apology as he applies pressure and jerks the wings back into proper position. Crowley may be asleep, Aziraphale’s miracle makes sure he feels none of the pain, but it still makes Aziraphale want to curl in on himself in guilt. He’d never liked hurting Crowley, even if it was for his own good. 

He smiles gently down at Crowley, now that all the nasty parts were done, and reaches down to card fingers through fiery locks of hair. As gently as he could, he shifts to lean up against the couch, pulling Crowley in his lap. Aziraphale’s wings spring into existence shortly afterward, and while he may only have one pair, they are just as magnificent, fluffy and bright white, glistening in the rays of sun that filter in through the windows. He wraps them around Crowley and his iridescent wings as best as he could and resumes playing with Crowley’s hair, urging him to sleep as long as he could. It’s not like Aziraphale could get bored staring at a sight like this, and the longer Crowley slept, the less pain he’d be in when he woke up again.

It might’ve been a couple hours, or a couple of days, Aziraphale lost count as he endlessly doted on the sleeping beauty on top of him. Time was meaningless to a pair like them anyway. Besides, they had so much to catch up on. Eventually Crowley stirred, and flexed his wings content that there was barely a twinge of pain to remind him of the events. He groans and stretches, his hand landing on Aziraphale’s shoulder as he took a second to adjust to his surroundings. 

“Why, hello there.” He grins, shuffling into a more upright position in Aziraphale’s lap, facing the angel. 

“How are you feeling dear?” Aziraphale replies, hand stretching out to straighten ruffled feathers. 

“Better now that I’m with you,” Crowley flirts, and Aziraphale shoves him a bit, but blushes and they both laugh. Crowley ruffles his wings and then gives them an experimental flap, lifting himself a couple inches off the ground, before settling back into Aziraphale’s lap. He leans forward, letting his body relax against Aziraphale’s chest, his wings falling limp at his side. “Fixed me up real good, Angel,” he comments, in lieu of thanks.

“I do happen to know a thing or two about angel wings, my dear boy,” the angel teases, and Crowley nudges him in retaliation. 

“How bad was it?” He mumbles into the fabric of Aziraphale’s jacket, almost as if he doesn’t really want to know. 

“Not bad at all. I just had to set one of them back in place.”

Crowley’s wings twitch, revealing his discomfort. He presses himself into Aziraphale even more, who uses the opportunity to wrap his wings around Crowley again, holding him close. Crowley lifts his face from Aziraphale’s shoulder and gently reaches out, carding his hand through messy feathers, realigning them into their proper spots. When they first got together, Crowley discovered that - despite Aziraphale’s knowledge of angel wings - he enjoyed grooming Crowley's wing way more than his own. As a result, Aziraphale’s wings are in far worse condition, but Crowley is slowly starting to change that. 

As a soothing gesture, Crowley pushes his wings back out of this realm of existence and focuses on grooming Aziraphale. All the stress has made him tense. Aziraphale soon relaxes against the couch, his mind falling out of whatever protector mode it was triggered into. They sit in silence, enjoying each other’s company as they recuperate. Eventually, Aziraphale’s wings are all straightened out, but he ruffles them, to shake out any loose feathers. Crowley throws his hands up in exasperation, all his work undone by a simple action. Aziraphale smiles and kisses Crowley in compensation. 

“They were going to get messy again anyway, darling.” 

Crowley rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, though he wasn’t really mad. He couldn’t stay mad at the angel regardless, as he swept the demon off his feet - who didn’t squeak at all, mind you - carrying him bridal style upstairs to their mess of blankets they called a bed. 

He settled them in the middle of the swarm of blankets, leaning back against the headboard, Crowley tucked neatly in his lap. Aziraphale’s wings wrap around them once more and Crowley curls up against his chest. 

“How’s the kid?” 

Aziraphale sighs. “They’re gonna be alright. The shops always open for them if they need it,” he reassures. 

Crowley nods. “Thanks for handling them for me.” 

“Of course, my dear. Anything for you.”

And he meant it. Anything. Absolutely anything.

No one can deny a love like this.


End file.
